Keep your hands to yourself
by ekc293
Summary: It's not his fault. Set sometime in Season 5, no spoilers. Strong T, to be safe.


I've had the beginning of this saved on my computer since Always.  
And I've been terrible at updating Check Your Sources lately, and Yours, Mine, and No One Else's, so here's... something.

* * *

He was trying so hard to keep a straight face.

Key word: _trying._

It really wasn't his fault, though.

Really, it wasn't.

It was entirely her fault. He would blame this on her until the day he died, would testify under oath that everything he was feeling could be linked back to Kate Beckett, would swear with a gun to his head and a knife to his throat that she was the cause of it all.

Because really… she was.

And really, it's only fair.

He had never had a problem controlling himself before. He had never felt such an uncontrollable urge to touch someone, to touch _her_, and that's saying something because he always wants to touch her, especially now that he's _touched _her.

He handed her the second cup of coffee of the morning, trying to ignore the way her fingers brushed against his skin, leaving a wake of heat in their path. He tried to forget the way those fingers felt as they burned a path down his chest as she slid down him, skin to skin, how her nails felt as she clawed against his back, or dug into his hip bones, or played with the hair on the back of his neck. He watched her curl her hands around her mug, knowing just how warm her hands already were, then lift that mug up to her lips, watching her perfect lips press against the rim of her mug, a light pink against the pure white and good god he wants to kiss her.

He shook his head, trying to fight off the urge because really, it's been months and still all he wants to do is kiss her. Well, that's not all he wants to do, but the need to act on the impulse is all consuming. It takes everything he has to fight the urge to lean down and kiss her when she takes his coffee and sips at it just like he does when she spends the night at the loft and she takes her coffee from him with a smile and shining eyes and hair that looks like someone's been running their fingers through it all night (guilty). He has to shake away the thought that, unlike in their apartments, every flat surface at the precinct is _not _an opportunity no matter how badly he wants it to be.

Not the elevator.

Or the interrogation room.

Or the observation room.

Or… her desk.

… His chair.

The counter in the break room.

The gym…

He wants to touch her.

And he wants to do it now, everywhere, like it was their first time all over again because it always is. He knows her so well and yet not at all. Kate is like putting on his favorite pair of jeans and wearing a shirt right after it's been starched. She's like coming home and going on a grand adventure all at once and it's intoxicating, knowing that there's always something new to be discovered, that he's touched every inch of her but there's still centimeters that remain uncharted, millimeters covered in nerve endings and her soft skin that need to be mapped out in their entirety.

He hears someone clear their throat and his eyes come back into focus on her and he didn't realize that he had zoned out but she's glaring at him. He realizes that he's still standing up, slightly bent over from when he handed her her drink, hovering by her chair, his eyes unfocused all just at the touch of her fingers against his.

She's glaring at him and he wished she wouldn't because it makes it so much harder.

Literally.

She loved that she did that to him, and he loved that she knew exactly how much she affected him. Her stares were a little less annoyed now, a little more heated, a little more 'I know exactly what you want to do to me right now and I want it, too." Her glares said "stop teasing me," not "cut it out."

God that did him in.

He sits down quickly though, swallowing tightly as he tries to focus on something other than her, shifts in his seat to get comfortable, maintaining eye contact until she looks back down at her paperwork, a pleased smile on her lips and he felt the warmth spread through his system, happy with himself that he could make her feel powerful, and beautiful, and wanted because she was absolutely D, all of the above.

He liked that he could please her.

In every way.

He shook his head and pulled out his phone, determined to let her work in peace and try to let it go because really, it was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he should be able to control himself regardless of how beautiful and sexy and mind-blowing his girlfriend was.

He closed his eyes, flipped through his apps before settling on some new doodling game he just downloaded that Alexis told him to try, turning off the sound before he began to play, sneaking glances at her from the corner of his eye every now and again.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard Kate put her pen down with a huff, looking up at her as she arched her back against her chair, pushing her chest out before shoving away from her desk, picking up her empty coffee cup, and moving towards the break room.

He locked his phone, sliding it into his pocket before following her.

Kate was standing in the break room, her hands gripping the counter, her shoulders tense, back straight.

His mind immediately went into overdrive, worry clenching around his heart because something was clearly wrong. She was angry about something, frustrated. He moved towards her slowly.

When he was close enough to her to hear her trying to steady her breathing he reached out, placing a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Kate?"

She tensed under his touch and before he knew it he was pressed against the counter, his back hitting the edge with a thud.

"Whoa!" he said, holding up his hands in shock, bracing himself.

"You need to stop," she said, her voice low, her hands gripping the lapels of his sports coat.

"Stop what?" he said, his voice high.

"You," she seethed, her chest pressed tightly against his, "do not get to look at me like that when we're… _I'm_ working."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you want to get me naked," she growled, her voice barely audible.

He quickly realized she was pressed up against him, holding him to the counter with nothing more than her weight and he could feel every line of her, every soft curve and hard jut of bone almost exactly where he wanted it and he felt his muscles start clenching with a different kind of tension.

He let his hands come down from their defensive position up by her shoulders to settle on her ribs, running his palms down the sides of her shirt, the pads of his fingers pressing down against her skin.

"But I do want to get you naked," he said, relishing in the way that she involuntarily shifted against him.

"You saw me naked last night… and this morning," she added on, her breathing shallower than before.

He frowned at her, one of his hands snaking down under the hem of her shirt to the skin on her hip.

"Am I supposed to stop wanting you?"

Her cheeks started to color, her chest heaving and he wasn't sure if it was from arousal or embarrassment he wasn't sure but she didn't look away, didn't stop glaring at him as he tried to bite back his smile.

And then she was on him, one of her hands gripping the back of his neck as she tugged him down towards her lips, groaning into his mouth as his hands clutched desperately at her waist, tugging her hips into the cradle of his own.

Yes, yes, _yes_.

He pushed his tongue against the seal of her lips and she opened easily to him, swallowing him down as if she needed him to survive and he tried to pull her closer at the thought because she was everything he'd ever wanted and he knew he'd never stop wanting her for the rest of his life.

He'd had a taste of the best the world had to offer, and he wouldn't be satisfied with anything else. Everything else was a knockoff, a copycat recipe, never up to par with the original.

He used his grip on her hips to turn them around, pressing her into the counter before running a hand down her thigh, his fingers scratching against the denim of the jeans she wore to work that morning, his own thigh falling between her legs as she continued to kiss him, her hands winding themselves into his hair, trying to tug him closer.

"Hey Beckett, we've got… whoa."

Kate ripped her lips away from his with a pop, and he let his head fall back for a moment, his eyes still closed before he looked over to find Esposito and Ryan looking equal parts disgusted and amused.

"We've got a body," Ryan continued, trying to compose himself.

"But if you need some alone time…" Esposito trailed off, his tone clearly teasing.

"Where?" Beckett said.

The boys rattled off an address and Kate assured them that she was right behind them, and the two left them, shaking their heads as they walked towards the elevator.

Kate sighed, pushing against his chest and he moved away from her reluctantly, running his hand through his hair. He watched as she straightened her shirt, taking a few deep breaths as she tried to compose herself.

"Never in any of my wildest precinct fantasies have we ever been caught," Rick said, trying to lighten the mood, but failing miserably because he hadn't gotten the air back into his lungs yet.

Kate fixed him with a look, and Rick felt his stomach tightening in response because he knew that look. He had dreams about that look. It was probably his favorite look of all.

That wasn't "cut it out".

That wasn't "stop teasing me".

That look said "later".

So he tried to hide his smile as he watched her shake out her hair and walk out towards her desk.

He really did.

He just… couldn't.

As he followed her out of the break room to where she was shrugging on her coat, the smile started to leak out onto the corners of his lips.

How could it not?

It seemed he wasn't the only one who had a problem with keeping their hands to themselves.


End file.
